I might be a codfish, but at least I'm yours
by pisthelimit
Summary: I am completely in love with Wendy Darling. God, she’s beautiful. I’d rather face a starving crocodile with one hand tied behind my back then tell her anything I’d just thought. Peter x Wendy
1. Introduction

Authors note: Here's the beginning of a fanfiction that I wrote for my friend Charlene!  
I have no idea if I really like the title, I just made it up for a lack of better things to call it. (Please give me ideas!)

I (regretfully) dont own Peter Pan.

* * *

**Peters POV**

_I hate Wendy Darling.  
I hate Wendy Darling.  
I hate Wendy Darling.  
I hate Wendy Darling.  
_  
I looked at her through the corner of my eye. I wouldn't turn my head. I wouldn't show her that I was looking at her. No. Her eyes were looking back into mine. She could sense that I was looking at her. Her eyes were looking into mine… really looking into mine, like she was looking into my eyes-through my eyes- and seeing my thoughts.

_I am unconditionally in love with Wendy Darling _

_I am irrevocably in love with Wendy Darling._

_I am undeniably in love with Wendy Darling_

_I am irreversibly in love with Wendy Darling._

_I am inexplicably in love with Wendy Darling._

_I am completely in love with Wendy Darling._

I looked at her once more, this time turning my head. She looked back at me. Her eyes are stunning. _God, she's beautiful._

I'd rather face a starving crocodile with one hand tied behind my back then tell her anything I'd just thought.

**Wendy's POV**

_Peter Pan is the single most immature person I have ever met. _

(I'm including both of my younger brothers in that category.)

_Peter Pan is one of the more narcissistic people I've ever met. _

(With good reason… but that's beside the point.)

I glanced up and looked at him. He was looking at me through the corner of his eye. He did that a lot, thinking that I wouldn't notice. It's hard to not notice when he has eyes like that. I lost myself in them for a moment, just looking at him. I looked at his profile. He was gorgeous. He turned his head and our eyes met again. I wonder if he knows how much time I've spent looking at his eyes. I wonder if I know how much time he's spent looking into mine. I tore my eyes away, and looked everywhere, anywhere. His shirt grabbed my attention. It was blue.

_Peter Pan bought an entirely new wardrobe so that he could match the color of my eyes.  
_ (He told me that once when he thought I was asleep.)

It's really no wonder that I'm so in love with him.

* * *

Thats all for now! Sorry for how short it is! (It's a whole page in word! :D)  
Please read and review! :)


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Authors note: It's short, I know! I just wanted to get something up before I went back into hiding!

Anyway, it's in Wendy's POV, and it's set BEFORE Wendy meets Peter.

Depressing fact: I dont own Peter Pan. Or Wendy. Or even Michel's teddy. :(

* * *

Moving is never easy. Whenever you move, wherever you move to, you always lose something.

A special pair of hair clips. A couple of socks. A photo album.

And then, there are the things that you can't re-buy.

A house. A home. A country.

And there are the things that you will never get back again.

A father. Trust in adults. The rest of your childhood.

Everything was in a blur. Minutes ago, I was in our hallway in London, listening to my parents yell at each other. Seconds ago, I was halfway over the Atlantic Ocean. And now, we were here. It was our new version of 'Home Sweet Home', a row-house in New York City.

I unbuckled Michel from his car-seat and picked him up. His death grip on his teddy bear loosened, and he wrapped his little fingers around my neck. John was gazing absentmindedly out the window of the car, as if the landscape was still changing. The divorce had really shaken him up.

Mum was standing at the door to our new house, and fumbling with the keys. Organization had never been one of her strong points.

"Mum?" Michel's high pitched voice startled her. She whipped her head around, and short locks of brown-grey hair found their way out of her bun.

"Yes dear?" She turned back to the key-ring, and tried shoving each into the lock.

I readjusted Michel's position. He really was getting too old for this. He wiggled around a little bit, and fell back into the position that he had originally been in. _So much for comfort. _

"Mummy, it's the wrong key." He stated the obvious. We were still outside, and Mum was still trying keys.

"Yes dear. Would you like to help Mummy find the right key?" She pushed the stray hairs behind her ears, and handed Michel the key-ring.

He picked our old house key, and proudly handed it back to Mum.

_Ouch. _


	3. Chapter 2

After several moments of vacant eyed staring, Mum regained her composer. She looked at Michel. He blinked a couple of times, and stared back into her eyes. He was so innocent looking. He'd make a great cartoon character; big doe eyes, and the works.

Rather than hurt his feelings, Mum tried shoving the key into the lock. It didn't fit.

I gently plucked the key-ring from my mother's fingers. The newest key glowed silver, and I tried it into the lock. A chorus of angels started singing, cymbals clashed, and a heavenly light shone down from the heavens. _If you couldn't tell, none of that really happened._ Well, except for the key fitting into the lock, and the heavenly light bit.

The light hanging above the entrance flicked on, sensing the motion from the front door opening. Mum jumped a bit, and I could feel Michel's heart speed up. The death-grip that Michel had on me tightened a little.

"Mum?" I said. She was gazing into the hallway, and I could tell that she was already comparing this house to our other one. "Mum?" I said again. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and walked into the house.

"It needs a little love, but it'll look as good as new soon." Mum forced a smile onto her face as she said this.

"I completely agree. It looks… great." I walked in behind her, and gave her a one armed hug. She smiled at me, a genuine happiness was in her eyes now.

"It is great, isn't it?" She paused for a second before continuing. "We can put a nice rug in this hallway, and when we finish unpacking we can find that nice picture of you and your brothers and hang it up. The wallpaper is awfully nice, but we might need to be changed, depending if Michel likes it." She was caught up in a whirlwind now. Her happiness was refreshing, and a little bit contagious. I bounced Michel a little on my hip. "Do you like the wallpaper, sweetie?" Mum asked. Michel looked around the hall, and examined the texture. "I guess it's okay." Michel said. He paused and thought for a moment. "It would be really nice if it had dinosaurs on it."

Mum examined the walls. "You know what Michel? You're completely right." Michel grinned, and reached out for Mum. I willingly handed him over into her open arms, glad to be rid of the extra weight.

"Michel, tell me more about what you want to do to the house!" Mum exclaimed, whisking him into the first room on the left; the living room. I could hear Michel's words through the walls, and I could almost imagine him pointing out to Mum what needed a Jurassic styled improvement.


	4. Chapter 3

I was eaten by a hungry crocodile, and only just managed to escape its stomach.

I was shot by an arrow through the heart (the archer was a rather angry little pixie) and spent the last five months recovering.

I was completely caught up in schoolwork, and then forgot entirely about creative writing.

(You pick which really happened.)

Disclaimer: I have not yet found a way to own Peter Pan. I'll alert you if I do.

* * *

I walked out of the foyer and down the tree short steps that connected the sidewalk to our barely elevated door.

"John?" I called, rapping my fingers gently across the glass for the car door. John's eyes locked with mine, and for the briefest moment they were hollow. There was a void that should have been filled with the inquisitive charm that I adored, but was instead emptied by loss. John jumped, startled, as he was hit with a flash of recognition.

"Wendy?" He questioned.

I bit my lower lip and nodded. "Yes John, it's me." The words came too softly, and were certainly inaudible through the glass.

"Wendy," John said, and he continued to speak. His lips moved without noise, the soft sounds eaten by the layer of glass between us. The silent film continued; John on screen and me in the audience. I couldn't change the ending. His emptiness turned to anger, and I could see his body tensing, and his finger curling to form fists.

Without warning, he pounded his hand against the window. His mouth formed familiar words: "It's not fair."

I pressed my own hand against the glass; wishing, hoping, that I could reach through the clear wall and touch him.

"No John, it isn't." I said loudly. Our eyes met again. "Please unlock the door John." I pleaded. I hated to beg. I hated to need to beg. He knew that I hated to, he knew that I wished it wasn't necessary. His dark head nodded slightly, and he pulled the lock up.

I took my hand from the window, and opened the car door. John stepped from the car onto the street, and I smiled. The corners of his mouth angled upwards, and he took another step, forgetting the differences in the heights of the street and sidewalk. He tripped, and as he fell forward I grabbed him in an awkward embrace before we both landed in a heap on the sidewalk.

Though I had been the one to hit the concrete, fat tears bubbled in John's eyes. I assessed the situation, and did the only thing I could think of. I laughed.

I hugged John closer and laughed until I couldn't breathe.

"What's so funny?" He demanded crossly, pushing me away.

I gasped for air. "We are lying in the middle of a sidewalk in New York City." I ruffled John's dark hair adoringly. "And it's all thanks to you, because you tripped whilst coming out of the ugliest rental car known to man." John's small body began to shake with giggles.

"Welcome to America!" I said between laughs, and kissed him on his nose. He squirmed a little, and I hugged him closer and laughed harder. "You're embarrassed to receive a kiss from your older sister, who you absolutely adore, but you aren't embarrassed in the least to be seen rolling on a sidewalk laughing like a maniac?"

I pulled us to our feet, while still holding onto John like a second layer of skin. We turned to face the front of our new house, and I put my arm around his shoulder.

"Welcome home." I whispered, and John looked up at me. His eyes were warm and familiar. A spark of personality glittered, and he gazed at the door of the house that now belonged to us. He read the chipping paint as he read a book, and I briefly thought of him sitting in our parlor in London, a leather-bound book with a cracked spine in his lap. He was flipping through pages, his eyes darting across the page, absorbing the information that was being presented to him. I was shaken from the memory, or imagining, I wasn't sure which it had been, as he looked up at me. "Welcome home." He whispered confidently.

* * *

Peter will be arriving... soon. Maybe. Hopefully.

Reviews make me happy! (and help get the next chapter published!)

Also, I'm welcoming to any constructive critism! Please leave some! I'd love to see where and how this story could be improved!


	5. Chapter 4

Oh hey look it's a chapter!

Whaddaya know?

Please excuse the long lack of posting anything.

* * *

Days pass. Boxes get unpacked. One by one, the cardboard mountains erode into nothingness. Weeks go by. The flattened boxes are tied with sting and brought outside to be recycled. A month passes. The boxes disappear from the curb, and are replaced with various attempts at gardening.

School starts. Wendy is a commodity: she speaks with a much desired accent, and is used like a parrot. She is forced to repeat words and phrases for her classmates. When she does, she is rewarded with crackers and invitations to parties and sleepovers and other various out of school events that never seem to materialize. She feels like an alien. She'd never admit it, but she'd rather be back in London. She returns home every day, and she is always relieved to be safe. In the evenings, she dutifully completes her homework, prepares dinner for the family, and creates various elaborates stories and games for John and Michael. School for John is unbelievably mundane. While other children in his class sneak comic books into their easy readers, John hides lists of unbalanced chemical equations. He gets bullied. His glasses were snapped during the first week of school by a dodgeball to the face. He told his mother that he tripped. When the replacement glasses were broken the following week, he told his mother the same thing. This time it wasn't so much of a lie; he had been tripped. Three times. The glasses are now held together by tape. John cries about it at night when he thinks that nobody is listening. He hates the way that his spectacles never rest on his nose the right way anymore, and the way that he is being treated because he is clever. He'd rather be back in London. Michael is too young for school, and he spends his days following his mother while she does errands. He'd rather be in a spaceship flying through Jurassic jungles.

It's Saturday, and the day is the most wonderful day of the week, seconded only by Sunday. Wendy Darling sits on the front step to her house, watching as John and Michael jump across the sidewalk. She leans against the railing, pretending to be tied to it. "Oh, will somebody please help me?" She calls out, and wiggles slightly. "These ropes are tight, and the water is rising!" Michael is walking toward her, his arms held straight as if to keep him balanced. John follows behind him, arms the same as Michael. "We're coming Princess Wendy!" John calls back. "The bridge is narrow, I don't know if we will make it in time!" He and Michael are walking along the lines of the sidewalk, and every so often they pause and lean to one side to help them balance the precarious path they walk along. "The water is at my elbows!" Wendy says, and the two sets of eyes staring at her widen in fear. "We won't be able to do it!" Michael cries out in fear. "Somebody help! Help!" He is engrossed in the game, and is entirely certain that his inability to walk another ten feet will cause his beloved sisters untimely demise.

"What's wrong?" An unfamiliar voice asks. Wendy looks up to see her brothers talking to an unfamiliar boy. "Michael, John, remember what I've told you about strangers!" She calls, but her reminder goes unheeded. John is explaining the game to the boy, and is using hugely exaggerated arm motions to illustrate the story. Michael is nodding enthusiastically, unable to understand most of the complex vocabulary that John has decided to use.

Wendy looks at the boy talking to her brothers so that she can compile a more complete police report. Green shirt, button down without any buttons buttoned. White shirt beneath. Black pants. Ginger. Very ginger. Pale skin. Brown shoes. Her age, maybe slightly older. John concludes his recap of their game with the line "and now she's neck deep, tied down, about to drown, and there is nothing we can do to save her!" The boy smiles. White teeth. When Wendy submits the police report, she will remember to include that he had excellent dental hygiene. "There's nothing to smile about!" Michael exclaims crossly. "She's our sister and she's a princess and she's about to die!" The boy shakes his head, and his very ginger hair falls across his face. He pushes it back with one hand. Wendy will also remember to include the fact that he was attractive. Very ginger. Very ginger and very attractive.

"Don't worry!" The boy says, and he ruffles Michael's hair. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I've got a little bit of fairy magic. And I'm going to use that fairy magic to save your sister."

John protests. "How? The bridge will break if you take another step! You can't walk any further!"

"I'm not planning on walking," The boy tells John. "I'm planning on flying." He drops his skateboard onto the sidewalk and steps onto it. He pushes off with a foot, and he glides the next several feet toward Wendy. "Heard there was a princess in distress," He shoots her a sideways grin. "Anything I can do to help?"

"You could start by undoing these knots before the water gets to my mouth." Wendy responds with a grin of her own.

He kneels down so that he is eye-level with Wendy, and wraps his arms around her. Her hands are holding the railing, and his hands reach over hers and he spends a moment undoing the imaginary knots. Wendy is nervous and uncomfortable because she doesn't feel nervous or uncomfortable. He smells like peppermint. She wonders if that is the type of thing somebody would include in a police report. He moves back and stands up, and then offers her his hand. She takes it, and he pulls her up. "You okay, fair princess?" He asks. Wendy can't think of much to say, and so she only nods. John and Michael rush toward the two, forgetting entirely about being stuck on a bridge. "You saved her! You saved her!" They exclaim, and jump around the stranger. He breaks eye contact with Wendy and looks down at the boys around his legs. His eyes are green.

Wendy tries to regain her senses. This isn't safe. She just let a complete stranger talk to her brothers, and get entirely too close to her. "John, Michael, say goodbye. We should go inside now." She's trying to be forceful, but she can't because she feels so at ease. "Do we have to?" John and Michael whine. "Say goodbye, you'll see him again." The two take her word, and they wave to their new friend before retreating to the doorframe. Wendy follows them.

"Oi!" The boy stands at the stoop, staring at Wendy. "I just saved your life! Don't I get to learn your name?" Wendy finds herself speaking before she can stop herself. "Wendy." He breaks into a wide grin, and she finds herself smiling back at him. "I'll see you around, Wendybird." He takes a step, and Wendy calls after him. "What about you? What's your name then?"

"Peter."


End file.
